by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER VI
GLOOM SHUNTING FOR THE BOSS
Trouble? Say, it was comin' seven diff'rent ways there forawhile,--our stocks on the slump, a quarterly bein' passed, Congressactin' up, a lot of gloom rumors floatin' around about what was goin'to happen to the tariff on steel, and the I Won't Workers pullin' off abig strike at one of our busiest plants. But all these things was sideissues compared to this scrap that develops between Old Hickory andPeter K. Groff.
Maybe you don't know about Peter K.? Well, he's the Mesaba agent ofCorrugated affairs, the big noise at the dirt end of the dividends.It's Groff handles the ore proposition, you understand, and it's hiscompany that does the inter-locking act between the ore mines and usand the railroads.
Course, I can't give you all the details without pullin' down asubpoena from the Attorney-General's office, and I ain't anxious tocrowd Willie Rockefeller, or anybody like that, out of the witnesschair. But I can go as far as to state that, as near as I could dopeit out, Peter K. was only standin' on his rights, and if only him andMr. Ellins could have got together for half an hour peaceable-likethings could have been squared all around. We needed Groff every tickof the clock, and just because he ain't always polite in statin' hisviews over the wire wa'n't any first-class reason for us extendin' himan official invitation to go sew his head in a bag.
Uh-huh, them was Old Hickory's very words. I stood by while he writesthe message. Then I takes it out and shows it to Piddie and grins.You should have seen Piddie's face. He turns the color of green peasoup and gasps. He's got all the fightin' qualities of a pet rabbit inhim, Piddie has.
"But--but that is a flat insult," says he, "and Mr. Groff is a veryirascible person!"
"A which?" says I. "Never mind, though. If he's got anything on OldHickory when it comes to pep in the disposition, he's the real TabascoTommy."
"But I still contend," says Piddie, "that this reply should not besent."
"Course it shouldn't," says I. "But who's goin' to point that out tothe boss? You?"
Piddie shudders. I'll bet he went home that night and told Wifey toprepare for the end of the world. Course, I knew it meant a muss. Butwhen Old Hickory's been limpin' around with a gouty toe for two weeks,and his digestion's gone on the fritz, and things in gen'ral has beenbreakin' bad--well, it's a case of low barometer in our shop, andwaitin' to see where the lightnin' strikes first. Might's well bepointed at Peter K., thinks I, as at some Wall Street magnate or me.Course, Groff goes up in the air a mile, threatens to resign from theboard, and starts stirrin' up a minority move that's liable to end mostanywhere.
Then, right in the midst of it, Old Hickory accumulates his annual caseof grip, runs up a temperature that ain't got anything to do with hisdisposition, and his doctor gives orders for him not to move out of thehouse for a week.
So that throws the whole thing onto me and Mr. Robert. I was takin' itcalm enough too; but with Mr. Robert it's different. He has his coatoff that mornin', and his hair mussed up, and he's smokin' longbrunette cigars instead of his usual cigarettes. He was pawin' overthings panicky.
"Hang it all!" he explodes. "Some of these papers must go up to theGovernor for his indorsement. Perhaps you'd better take them, Torchy.But you're not likely to find him in a very agreeable mood, you know."
"Oh, I can dodge," says I, gatherin' up the stuff. "And what's thedope? Do I dump these on the bed and make a slide for life, or so Itake out accident insurance and then stick around for orders?"
"You may--er--stick around," says Mr. Robert. "In fact, my chiefreason for sending you up to the house is the fact that at times youare apt to have a cheering effect on the Governor. So stay as long asyou find any excuse.
"Gee!" says I. "I don't know whether this is a special holiday, or asentence to sudden death. But I'll take a chance, and if the worsthappens, Mr. Robert, see that Piddie wears a black armband for me."
He indulges in the first grin he's had on for a week, and I makes myexit on that. The science of bein' fresh is to know where to quit.
But, say, that wa'n't all guff we was exchangin' about Old Hickory. Idon't find him tucked away under the down comf'tables, like he ought tobe. Marston, the butler, whispers the boss is in the lib'ry, and sortof shunts me in without appearin' himself. A wise guy, Marston.
For here's Mr. Ellins, wearin' a padded silk dressin' gown and oldslippers, pacin' back and forth limpy and lettin' out grunts and growlsat every turn. Talk about your double-distilled grouches! He lookslike he'd been on a diet of mixed pickles and scrap iron for a month,and hated the whole human race.
"Well?" he snaps as he sees me edgin' in cautious.
"Papers for your O. K," says I, holdin' the bunch out at arm's length.
"My O. K.?" he snarls. "Bah! Now what the zebra-striped Zacharias dothey send those things to me for? What good am I, anyway, except as acommon carrier for all the blinkety blinked aches and pains that everexisted? A shivery, shaky old lump of clay streaked with cussedness,that's all I am!"
"Yes, Sir," says I, from force of habit.
"Eh?" says he, whirlin' and snappin' his jaws.
"N-n-no, Sir," says I, sidesteppin' behind a chair.
"That's right," says he. "Dodge and squirm as if I was a wild animal.That's what they all do. What are you afraid of, Boy?"
"Me?" says I. "Why, I'm havin' the time of my life. I don't mind. Itonly sounds natural and homelike. And it's mostly bluff, ain't it, Mr.Ellins?"
"Discovered!" says he. "Ah, the merciless perspicacity of youth! Butdon't tell the others. And put those papers on my desk."
"Yes, Sir," says I, and after I've spread 'em out I backs into the baywindow and sits down.
"Well, what are you doing there?" says he.
"Waiting orders," says I. "Any errands, Mr. Ellins?"
"Errands?" says he. Then, after thinkin' a second, he raps out, "Yes.Do you see that collection of bottles and pills and glasses on thetable? Enough to stock a young drugstore! And I've been pouring thattruck into my system by wholesale,--the pink tablets on the half-hour,the white ones on the quarter, a spoonful of that purple liquid on theeven hour, two of the greenish mixtures on the odd, and getting worseevery day. Bah! I haven't the courage to do it myself, but by theblue-belted blazes if---- See here, Boy! You're waiting orders, yousay?"
"Uh-huh!" says I.
"Then open that window and throw the whole lot into the areaway," sayshe.
"Do you mean it, Mr. Ellins?" says I.
"Do I--yah, don't I speak plain English?" he growls. "Can't youunderstand a simple----"
"I got you," I breaks in. "Out it goes!" I don't drop any of itgentle, either. I slams bottles and glasses down on the flaggin' andchucks the pills into the next yard. I makes a clean sweep.
"Thanks, Torchy," says he. "The doctor will be here soon. I'll tellhim you did it."
"Go as far as you like," says I. "Anything else, Sir?"
"Yes," says he. "Provide me with a temporary occupation."
"Come again," says I.
"I want something to do," says he. "Here I've been shut up in thisconfounded house for four mortal days! I can't read, can't eat, can'tsleep. I just prowl around like a bear with a sore ear. I wantsomething that will make me forget what a wretched, futile old fool Iam. Do you know of anything that will fill the bill?"
"No, sir," says I.
"Then think," says he. "Come, where is that quick-firing, automaticintellect of yours? Think, Boy! What would you do if you were shut uplike this?"
"Why," says I, "I--I might dig up some kind of games, I guess."
"Games!" says he. "That's worth considering. Well, here's some money.Go get 'em."
"But what kind, Sir?" says I.
"How the slithering Sisyphus should I know what kind?" he snaps."Whose idea is this, anyway? You suggested games. Go get 'em, I tellyou! I'll give you half an hour, while I'm looking over this stufffrom the office. Just half an hour. Get out!"
/> It's a perfectly cute proposition, ain't it? Games for a heavy-poddedold sinner like him, who's about as frivolous in his habits as one ofthem stone lions in front of the new city lib'ry! But here I was on myway with a yellow-backed twenty in one hand; so it's up to me toproduce. I pikes straight down the avenue to a joint where they've gotthree floors filled with nothin' but juvenile joy junk, blows in thereon the jump, nails a clerk that looks like he had more or less bean,waves the twenty at him, and remarks casual:
"Gimme the worth of that in things that'll amuse a fifty-eight-year-oldkid who's sick abed and walkin' around the house."
Did I say clerk? I take it back. He was a salesman, that young gentwas. Never raised an eyebrow, but proceeded to haul out samples, pass'em up to me for inspection, and pile in a heap what I gives him thenod on. If I established a record for reckless buyin', he nevermentions it. Inside of twenty minutes I'm on my way back, followed bya porter with both arms full.
"The doctor has come," says Marston. "He's in with Mr. Ellins now,Sir."
"Ob, is he?" says I. "Makes it very nice, don't it?" And, bein' ashow I was Old Hickory's alibi, as you might say, I pikes right to thefront.
"Here he is now," says Mr. Ellins.
And the Doc, who's a chesty, short-legged gent with a dome half underglass,--you know, sort of a skinned diamond with turf outfieldeffect,--he whirls on me accusin'. "Young man," says he, "do Iunderstand that you had the impudence to----"
"Well, well!" breaks in Old Hickory, gettin' a glimpse of what theporter's unloading "What have we here? Look, Hirshway,--Torchy's drugsubstitute!"
"Eh?" says the Doc, starin' puzzled.
"Games," says Mr. Ellins, startin' to paw over the bundles. "Toys fora weary toiler. Let's inspect his selection. Now what's this in thebox, Torchy?"
"Cut-up picture puzzle," says I. "Two hundred pieces. You fit 'emtogether."
"Fine!" says Old Hickory. "And this?"
"Ring toss," says I. "You try to throw them rope rings over the peg."
"I see," says he. "Excellent! That will be very amusing andinstructive. Here's an airgun too."
"Ellins," says Doc Hirshway, "do you mean to say that at your age youare going to play with such childish things?"
"Why not?" says Old Hickory. "You forbid business. I must employmyself in some way, and Torchy recommends these."
"Bah!" says the Doc disgusted. "If I didn't know you so well, I shouldthink your mind was affected."
"Think what you blamed please, you bald-headed old pill peddler!" rapsback the boss, pokin' him playful in the ribs. "I'll bet you a fiver Ican put more of these rings over than you can."
"Humph!" says the Doc. "I've no time to waste on silly games." And hestands by watchin' disapprovin' while Old Hickory makes an awkward stabat the peg. The nearest he comes to it is when he chucks one throughthe glass door of a curio cabinet, with a smash that brings the butlertiptoein' in.
"Did you ring, Sir?" says Marston.
"Not a blamed one!" says Mr. Ellins.
"Take it away, Marston. And then unwrap that large package. There!Now what the tessellated teacups is that!"
It's something I didn't know anything about myself; but the young gentat the store had been strong for puttin' it in, so I'd let it slide.It's a tin affair, painted bright green, with half a dozen little brasscups sunk in it. Some rubber balls and a kind of croquet mallet goeswith it.
"Indoor golf!" says Old Hickory, readin' the instruction pamphlet."Oh, I see! A putting green. Set it there on the rug, Marston. Now,let's see if I've forgotten how to putt."
We all gathers around while he tries to roll the balls into the cups.Out of six tries he lands just one. Next time he don't get any at all.
"Pooh!" says the Doc edgin' up int'rested. "Wretched putting form,Ellins, wretched! Don't tap it that way: sweep it along---followthrough, with your right elbow out. Here, let me show you!"
But Hirshway don't do much better. He manages to get two in; but onewas a rank scratch.
"Ho-ho!" cackles Old Hickory. "Isn't so easy as it looks, eh,Hirshway? Now it's my turn again, and I'm betting ten I beat you."
"I take you," says the Doc.
And blamed if Old Hickory don't pull down the money!
Well, that's what started things. Next I knew they'd laid out aregular golf course, drivin' off from the rug in front of the desk,through the double doors into the drawin' room, then across the hallinto the music room, around the grand piano to the left, through theback hall, into the lib'ry once more, and onto the tin green.
Marston is sent to dig out a couple sets of old golf clubs from theattic, and he is put to caddyin' for the Doc, while I carries the bagfor the boss. Course they was usin' putters mostly, except for fancyloftin' strokes over bunkers that they'd built out of books and sofapillows. And as the balls was softer than the regulation golf kind,with more bounce to 'em, all sorts of carom strokes was ruled in.
"No moving the chairs," announces Old Hickory. "All pieces offurniture are natural hazards."
"Agreed," says the Doc. "Playing stimies too, I suppose?"
"Stimies go," says the boss.
Say, maybe that wa'n't some batty performance, with them two oldduffers golfin' all over the first floor of a Fifth-ave. house,disputin' about strokes, pokin' balls out from under tables and sofas,and me and Marston followin' along with the bags. They got as excitedover it as if they'd been playin' for the International Championship,and when Old Hickory loses four strokes by gettin' his ball wedged in acorner he cuts loose with the real golfy language.
We was just finishin' the first round, with the score standin' fourteento seventeen in favor of the Doc, when the front doorbell rings and amaid comes towin' in Piddie. Maybe his eyes don't stick out some too,as he takes in the scene, But Mr. Ellins is preparin' to make a shotfor position in front of the green and he don't pay any attention.
"It's Mr. Piddie, Sir," says I.
"Hang Mr. Piddie!" says Old Hickory. "I can't see him now."
"But it's very important," says Piddie. "There's someone at the officewho----"
"No, no, not now!" snaps the boss impatient.
And I gives Piddie the back-out signal. But you know how much sensehe's got.
"I assure you, Mr. Ellins," he goes on, "that this is----"
"S-s-s-st!" says I. "Boom-boom! Outside!" and I jerks my thumbtowards the door.
That settles Piddie. He fades.
A minute later Old Hickory gets a lucky carom off a chair leg and holesout in nineteen, with the Doc playin' twenty-one.
"Ha, ha!" chuckled the boss. "What's the matter with my form now,Hirshway? I'll go you another hole for the same stake."
The Doc was sore and eager to get back. They wa'n't much more'n fairlystarted, though, before there's other arrivals, that turns out to be noless than two of our directors, lookin' serious and worried.
"Mr. Rawson and Mr. Dunham," announces the maid.
"Here, Boy!" says the boss, catchin' me by the elbow. "What was thatyou said to Mr. Piddie,--that 'Boom-boom!' greeting?"
I gives it to him and the Doc in a stage whisper.
"Good!" says he. "Get that, Hirshway? Now let's spring it on 'em.All together now--S-s-s-st! Boom-boom! Outside!"
Say, it makes a hit with the directors, all right. First off theydidn't seem to know whether they'd strayed into a bughouse, or werejust bein' cheered; but when they sees Old Hickory's mouth corners theyconcludes to take it as a josh. It turns out that both of 'em are golfcranks too, and inside of three minutes they've forgot whatever it wasthey'd come for, they've shed their coats, and have been rung into afoursome.
Honest, of all the nutty performances! For there was no tellin' wherethem balls would roll to, and wherever they went the giddy old boys hadto follow. I remember one of 'em was stretched out full length on histummy in the front hall, tryin' to make a billiard shot from under alow hall seat, when there's another ring at the bell, and Marston,
witha golf bag still slung over his shoulder, lets in a square-jawed,heavy-set old gent who glares around like he was lookin' for troubleand would be disappointed if he didn't find it.
"Mr. Peter K. Groff," announces Marston.
"Good night!" says I to myself. "The enemy is in our midst."
But Old Hickory never turns a hair. He stands there in his shirtsleeves gazin' calm at this grizzly old minin' plute, and then I sees akind of cut-up twinkle flash in them deep-set eyes of his as he summonshis foursome to gather around. I didn't know what was coming either,until they cuts loose with it. And for havin' had no practice theyrips it out strong.
"S-s-s-st! Boom-boom! Outside!" comes the chorus.
It gets Peter K.'s goat too. His jaw comes open and his eyes pop.Next he swallows bard and flushes red behind the ears. "Ellins," sayshe, "I've come fifteen hundred miles to ask what you mean by tellingme----"
"Oh, that you, Groff?" breaks in the boss. "Well, don't interrupt ourgame. Fore! You, I mean. Fore, there! Now go ahead, Rawson.Playing eleven, aren't you?"
And Rawson's just poked his ball out, makin' a neat carom into themusic room, when the hall clock strikes five.
"By Jove, gentlemen!" exclaims Doc Hirshway. "Sorry, but I must quit.Should have been in my office an hour ago. I really must go."
"Quitter!" says Mr. Ellins. "But all right. Trot along. Here, Groff,you're a golfer, aren't you?"
"Why--er--yes," says Peter K., actin' sort of dazed; "but I----"
"That's enough," says Old Hickory. "You take Hirshway's place.Dunham's your partner. We're playing Nassau, ten a corner. But I'lltell you,--just to make it interesting, I'll play you on the side tosee whether or not we accept that proposition of yours. Is it a go?"
"But see here, Ellins," conies back Peter K. "I want you to understandthat you or any other man can't tell me to sew my head in a bagwithout----"
"Oh, drop that!" says Old Hickory. "I withdraw it--mostly gout,anyway. You ought to know that. And if you can beat me at this gameI'll agree to let you have your own way out there. Are you on, or areyou too much of a dub to try it?"
"Maybe I am a dub, Hickory Ellins," says Peter K., peelin' off hiscoat, "but any game that you can play--er---- Which is my ball?"
Well, it was some warm contest, believe me, with them two joshin' backand forth, and at the game time usin' as much foxy strategy as if theywas stealin' railroads away from each other! They must have been at itfor near half an hour when a maid slips in and whispers how Mr. Robertis callin' for me on the wire. So I puts her on to sub for me with thebag while I slides into the 'phone booth.
"Sure, Mr. Robert," says I, "I'm still on the job."
"But what is happening?" says he. "Didn't Groff come up?"
"Yep," says I. "He's here yet."
"You don't say!" says Mr. Robert. "Whe-e-ew! He and the governorhaving it hot and heavy, I suppose?"
"And then some," says I. "Peter K. took first round 12-17, he tied thesecond, and now he's trapped in the fireplace on a bad ten."
"Wha-a-at?" gasps Mr. Robert.
"Uh-huh," says I. "Mr. Ellins is layin' under the piano,--only seven,but stimied for an approach."
"In Heaven's name, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "what do you mean? Mr.Groff trapped in the fireplace, father lying under the piano--why----"
"Ah, didn't Piddie tell you? The boob!" says I. "It's just golf,that's all--indoor kind--a batty variation that they made upthemselves. But don't fret. Everything's all lovely, and I guess theCorrugated is saved. Come up and look 'em over."
Yep! Peter K. got the decision by slipping over a smear in the fourth,after which him and Old Hickory leans up against each other and laughsuntil their eyes leak. Then Marston wheels in the tea wagon full ofdecanters and club soda, and when I left they was clinkin' glasses realchummy.
"Son," says Old Hickory, as he pads into the office about noon nextday, "I believe I forgot the usual caddie fee. There you are."
"Z-z-z-zing!" says I, starin' after him. Cute little strips ofTreasury kale, them with the C's in the corners, aren't they? Well, Ishould worry!